“I want to be an actor.” As he said the words, Frank realized this was the first time he’d ever spoken them out loud.
“I’m sure you’d make a fine actor,” the girl said. Frank looked across to see if she was teasing him, but her face was still serious. “You even look a bit like Rock Hudson inPillow Talk.”
“Oh, I loved that one. I saw it twice.”
The first time, he’d taken Rosamund Green, and the second time, he’d gone on his own, sneaking in so no one saw him going to a romance flick without a girl.
“I go to the pictures as much as I can,” he said. “I’ve seen almost everything they’ve shown at the Electric Palace.”
“Well, then, you’ve begun your acting education already,” she said. “Now you just need to tell your parents.”
“I wish it were that simple.”
“It won’t be, but I swear you won’t regret it. You only get one life, after all.”
The bus had reached the top of Whitehall, and Trafalgar Square came into view in front of them.
“You know, if you’re serious about wanting to learn about art, this is a good place to start,” the girl said as the bus turned left in front of Nelson’s Column.
“Trafalgar Square?”
“No, the National Gallery.” She pointed at a large, domed building at the far side of the square. Frank had seen it dozens of times before, but never paid it any attention. “It’s got over two thousand paintings inside, from all round the world.”
“Two thousand? How are you meant to see all of them in one visit?”
“You’re not,” she said. “It’s free, so you can go as often as you like. I could spend hours there staring at just one painting.”
Frank looked at the girl in disbelief. “Hours looking at one painting? Don’t you get bored?”
“God no. There’s a painting calledBacchus and Ariadne, by an artist called Titian, that I must have spent days looking at. Every time, I see something new.”
“Goodness,” Frank said.
“Sometimes I wonder why I’m bothering with art school. Spending time in that gallery is like being taught by the greatest art masters in the world.”
“I suppose I should go and take a look, then.” Frank couldn’t believe he’d lived in this city all his life and never even known the gallery existed. How small his world suddenly felt.
They were passing through Piccadilly Circus now, under the huge neon signs advertising Coca-Cola and Cinzano. The girl began to gather up her belongings and, with a start, Frank realized that she must be about to get off the bus. He felt such a rush of emotion that for a moment he couldn’t speak. He’d asked girls out before, and some of them had even said yes, so why did he feel so nervous now?
“Look, this might be presumptuous, but...” He faltered as she turned to look at him with those bewitching eyes. “I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to go to the National Gallery next Sunday? With me, I mean. You could show me that Bacchus and Adrian painting you like so much.”
She squinted at him, and Frank braced himself for rejection.
“Why not?” she said, and in that instant he thought his heart might explode.
“Wonderful! That’s... Thank you!”
“You can call me if you like,” she said. “There’s a phone inmy building and you can always leave a message with one of the girls.”
“I will do.” He reached into his pocket, then realized he didn’t have a pen or anything to write on.
“Here.” She produced her pencil and bus ticket, scribbling her number at the bottom of the small rectangular card. She held it out to him and then stopped, pulling the ticket back. “You’re not one of those boys who like to collect girls’ numbers, then never call, are you?”
“Of course not!” Frank said. “I swear, I will call you tonight, and every day if you like.”
“Just the once is fine,” she said, but she smiled as she handed over the ticket. Frank’s thumb brushed against hers as he took it, and he felt like he’d been burned.
He put the ticket into his jacket pocket and then went to hand her back the drawing. “Thank you for showing me this. It’s wonderful.”
